I have read and loved several books by Michael Chabon. I looked him up to find out more about him and what other books he's written, and I learned that his wife is also a writer (and she has a cool first name). Turns out, his wife is known for having written an essay in which she said she loved her husband more than her children. People freaked out about it, as if their self-righteous indignation should mean something. As if being accusatory and judgmental would change something. Like being publicly attacked and threatened would make her suddenly say, "Oh, yes, you're right. How could I have been so mistaken about my own feelings?"
If there is one thing I have learned (over and over again) -- the hard way -- it's that people can't control their feelings. Sure, there are anger management classes and meditation practices and psychotherapy (not to mention drugs), but those are about dealing with feelings, not controlling them. I vividly remember sitting in my shrink's office shortly after my mom died, talking about how I wanted to think my way out of my grief. Because my rational brain could handle it all more than my squishy little heart. She looked at me and said, "You just have to feel it." And she was right. I hated it (hate it still) but it's true. All any of us can do is feel our feelings and do the best we can with them.
Ayelet Waldman's feelings may be unpopular (which I suspect has more to do with shame on the part of people who secretly feel the same way she does than anything else), but they're her feelings. What gives any of us the right to judge her?
A friend once told me I was the least judgmental person she knew. My former boss used to say I was really good at assuming people's best intentions. I like to think both are true (because I work hard at it), but I still catch myself judging people rather harshly from time to time.
Recently, I was on a train to New York City. There was a girl on the train dressed in a very skimpy Wonder Woman outfit. The people I was traveling with snickered and made comments. My initial reaction was similar to theirs, but then I thought about it some more. I figured there are probably people who have had similar reactions to me when I've worn my tutus in public (and not so public) places. My tutus don't hurt anyone, and even at my most judgmental, I do not have a malicious bone in my body. So why be hostile about my whimsical choice of clothing? Why judge this girl on the train about hers? I mean, if she actually thought she was Wonder Woman, that might be reason for concern (and for calling a mental health professional). Otherwise, who cares?
I have a couple of friends who have said some pretty harsh things about people who read certain books, particularly super fans of them. I may not like the things they read, may not understand their obsessions, but how are the things I like and obsess about any better?
I saw a picture of a tattoo somewhere that read "More joy, less shame." I liked it a lot, even though I don't tend to experience a lot of shame. (Guilt? Yes. Truckloads of it. And a fair bit of worry, too. But not much in the way of shame.) But isn't judgment all about shaming other people?
So, when I catch myself getting judgmental, I try to remind myself that we all like different things. Not only is that okay, it's one of the things that makes the world (and the people in it) interesting. We're all just feeling our feelings and doing the best we can with them.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
36
I was looking back at the post I made just before I turned 35 that listed all the awesome things I did in my 35th year. ...The year that ended with my grandma's death two days before my birthday.
My 36th year was much more complicated (because I was still newly grieving my grandma when my dad died), but I still did a lot of fun and awesome things that I never collected in a list. I'm a little more than halfway through my 37th year now, so I feel like I should go back and make the list for the 36th:
I'm a little more than halfway to 37 and while the last six months haven't been without their challenges (and heartbreaks), there have also been lots of incredible adventures. Looking forward to rounding out the list and posting it at the end of the year.
(And thank goodness for my color-coded Google calendar with nearly EVERYTHING in it...).
My 36th year was much more complicated (because I was still newly grieving my grandma when my dad died), but I still did a lot of fun and awesome things that I never collected in a list. I'm a little more than halfway through my 37th year now, so I feel like I should go back and make the list for the 36th:
- I celebrated my actual birthday in New York City with my sisters, brother-in-law, and friend Daniel
- I got to finally go to Strand Bookstore and eat at Veselka and had a great mini cake from Black Hound Bakery just before they closed their shop
- Reffed my 100th game on skates (and was presented with an amazing cake made by my friend You++)
- Saw bands I love (Taking Back Sunday, Fall Out Boy, Paramore, Scott Bradlee & Postmodern Jukebox)
- Had lovely visits with good friends, including old friends I haven't seen in much too long
- Explored some roadside attractions
- Completed the Urban Raid, Color Me Rad, Beach Raid, and Insane Inflatables 5Ks
- Drove hours to meet a couple of friends at the geographical midpoint between our residences and played a bunch of ski ball (and discovered I am not as good as I used to be)
- Spent hours watching movies of video games on YouTube...and actually enjoyed them tremendously
- Finally went to Acadia National Park
- Discovered the fancy new recliners at the local movie theater with my sisters
- Took my sisters to Moody's Diner
- Got to visit a real live topiary (even if it was starting to die a bit)
- Saw SO MANY PUMPKINS
- Got to dance to What Cheer? Brigade on Peaks Island again
- Climbed around at Monkey C Monkey Do again (let's forget the part where I fell off the element and dangled by my safety line, shall we?)
- WENT TO ICELAND!!!!!
- Saw so many bands in Iceland
- Got paid to write creative stuff for the first time ever (even if it was just a small amount of contract work)
- Got the award for Most Valuable Official - Ref at the MRD Christmas party
- Visited the prison showroom, which is an adventure all on its own
- Painted a picture I really like (and had fun doing it)
- Participated in a live sing-along show of Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, which was just as amazing as it sounds (and worth driving in a blizzard to get there)
- Officiated a lot of derby (on and off skates)
- Wrote a bit and even started querying agents
- Started a really, truly healthy meal and fitness program (which led to me losing about 20 pounds, getting in the best shape of my life, and receiving the best lab report I've ever had on my bloodwork)
- Mailed (and received) so many strange and whimsical things as part of my postal ninjery campaign
I'm a little more than halfway to 37 and while the last six months haven't been without their challenges (and heartbreaks), there have also been lots of incredible adventures. Looking forward to rounding out the list and posting it at the end of the year.
(And thank goodness for my color-coded Google calendar with nearly EVERYTHING in it...).
Monday, August 10, 2015
Happiness
It's been two weeks since my friend Beth died. And last night, my
dear friend Emer's mom died of the same stupid cancer that killed my
mom*. A friend and I were texting last night and he wrote, "I'm sorry so much ache finds its way to your door."
In a way, he's right. It's been a hard few months. (And let's not even talk about all the death last year.) I'm on my fourth month of the worst/longest bout of insomnia I've ever had (and the second prescription that isn't doing much to help).
But in a way he's wrong, because most of the ache this year has landed directly on people I love, and I'm just a bystander. Sure, that's still hard, but in a completely different way. And I don't take for granted my good fortune at being on the sidelines rather than in the direct path of the train.
I have been feeling the weight of these and other things lately, but I've also had moments of incredible joy and beauty that need to be celebrated. I just completed my first ever gishwhes, which is an event that feels like it could have been created just for me. Here's the conclusion to an email about it we received from the organizer just before the hunt ended:
My team submitted a total of 79 items on a list of 215. I don't think there's any chance we'll win any prizes, but that doesn't matter. We had fun. So much fun. And we helped make the world a better place, if in only small ways. I made a couple of new friends. I got to do lots of silly things. And I got a bunch of hugs (including one while coated in butter and another that lasted 20 minutes).
Beth once said she loved how I live my life. It's not like I don't make colossal mistakes sometimes. I hurt and annoy people. I wear them out. I leave things undone. But mostly, I strive for happiness.
Early in the hunt, I chose to do a task assigned by John Green that involved writing your own personal manifesto. I liked the idea of the task, but had no idea what I'd do. It was really eye-opening for me when I sat down and started writing. I thought of Beth. I thought of how Esther Earl said, "Just be happy, and if you can't be happy, do things that make you happy. Or do nothing with the people that make you happy." And this is what poured out of me:
* I have witnessed how hard it is to quit smoking. I know science says that most people who smoke want to quit. If you smoke, please try to quit. And keep trying until you do. If not for yourself, then for the people who love you, who should not have to go through what Emer and I did.
In a way, he's right. It's been a hard few months. (And let's not even talk about all the death last year.) I'm on my fourth month of the worst/longest bout of insomnia I've ever had (and the second prescription that isn't doing much to help).
But in a way he's wrong, because most of the ache this year has landed directly on people I love, and I'm just a bystander. Sure, that's still hard, but in a completely different way. And I don't take for granted my good fortune at being on the sidelines rather than in the direct path of the train.
I have been feeling the weight of these and other things lately, but I've also had moments of incredible joy and beauty that need to be celebrated. I just completed my first ever gishwhes, which is an event that feels like it could have been created just for me. Here's the conclusion to an email about it we received from the organizer just before the hunt ended:
It’s easy to fall prey to the monotony of life. It’s easy to get sucked into the routine of going to school, raising a family or grinding at a job. It’s easy to get lost for hours in the impersonal online world.
...Even if you only managed to complete a fraction of the items on the list, you still did things you never thought yourself capable or comfortable doing. You went out in the world and woke up the public by doing strange and wondrous things. You dove headfirst into art (with either a beautiful ripple or an incredible wonderfully ugly spastic tsunamic splash) and, based on the submissions I’ve seen, you touched thousands of hearts.
...And don’t forget, just because Gishwhes ends, doesn’t mean you have to stop bringing weirdness, fun and kindness into your life and the lives of those around you. No matter who you are or what you do, the world deserves to see your gish.
My team submitted a total of 79 items on a list of 215. I don't think there's any chance we'll win any prizes, but that doesn't matter. We had fun. So much fun. And we helped make the world a better place, if in only small ways. I made a couple of new friends. I got to do lots of silly things. And I got a bunch of hugs (including one while coated in butter and another that lasted 20 minutes).
Beth once said she loved how I live my life. It's not like I don't make colossal mistakes sometimes. I hurt and annoy people. I wear them out. I leave things undone. But mostly, I strive for happiness.
Early in the hunt, I chose to do a task assigned by John Green that involved writing your own personal manifesto. I liked the idea of the task, but had no idea what I'd do. It was really eye-opening for me when I sat down and started writing. I thought of Beth. I thought of how Esther Earl said, "Just be happy, and if you can't be happy, do things that make you happy. Or do nothing with the people that make you happy." And this is what poured out of me:
Happiness. That's the most important thing. It's hard, because I want to be a good person who does good things. It feels selfish to focus on my own happiness, but really it's just a matter of practicality. An unhappy person doesn't have as much patience or tolerance. An unhappy person doesn't have the same capacity for love and kindness. An unhappy person can't possibly be as engaged as someone who feels fulfilled and at peace...and happy. So, I will fight for my happiness first. (Even if I have to fight my own feelings of wrongness about it.) And then I can go out and try to make the world a better, gentler place.
* I have witnessed how hard it is to quit smoking. I know science says that most people who smoke want to quit. If you smoke, please try to quit. And keep trying until you do. If not for yourself, then for the people who love you, who should not have to go through what Emer and I did.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Going rogue
For months now, I've seen pictures in my Facebook feed of various friends and acquaintances posing with identical (or nearly) paintings they had made during paint nights at various organizations. It's a fad I didn't have any interest in. None of the paintings that showed up in my newsfeed were the kind that, if I saw them in a store or gallery, I'd want to buy. And it seemed odd to want to hang up a painting in my house, knowing that a group of my friends/coworkers/acquaintances and a roomful of strangers all it had in their houses, too.
If you want to do that, go right ahead. It's just not something that interests me.
But then a very good friend said she wanted to do one of these paint nights and she invited me along. I said I'd go, but I made it clear from the beginning that I wanted to do my own thing. I wanted to paint the sky (as I remembered it) from the view of the boat deck when I saw the Northern Lights in Iceland.
Our group of three arrived at the studio last night and found our way to the corner where our assigned easels were. We were supposed to be painting this:
We received paper plates with globs of paint in the color pallet needed to paint this picture. It didn't include any blues or greens, which would've been necessary for the painting I wanted to make. I was nervous that I was going to have to come up with another plan, because although this picture is fine, it's not something I particularly wanted to hang in my home.
And then the instructor said we could help ourselves to any of the colors in the "paint bar" and to feel free to paint whatever we wanted.
I tuned out the instructor as she described how to paint the picture above. From my initial brush strokes, it was obvious I was doing my own thing. The guy seated next to me said, "Going rogue!" I just said, "Yep," and continued painting.
During an early break, a woman I didn't know stopped in front of my easel. I'm not sure where she was painting or why she came over to look at mine. She asked me (in a bit of a sharp tone) why I wasn't painting the picture everyone else was.
"Because I didn't want to," I said. (My tone might have been sharper if I hadn't been so taken aback by the fact that a stranger was interrupting me to ask what I perceived to be a pretty dumb question.)
My friend stepped in and very cheerfully said something about my overwhelming desire to paint the Northern Lights as I had seen them recently. The lady walked away.
What I wanted to ask was, "Why do you feel like you need to paint exactly what's up there?" Or, "Why is it so threatening to you that I wanted to do something different?"
The instructor came by, was very complimentary, and even dug out the studio's Northern Lights painting to help serve as inspiration, if I wanted it. (Theirs was very different from what I was doing, but it's a nice painting, and it was nice of her to be so enthusiastic.)
In the end, this is what I painted:
That's the moon in the upper right corner. The column of white light is supposed to represent the Imagine Peace tower. That's a big cloud rolling horizontally across the canvas.
It turned out to be a really fun evening with friends, where I got to do something creative and make a painting I truly wanted to make. I'd do it again.
The guy next to me seemed impressed that I was "going rogue" while the strange lady was clearly disturbed by it. I marvel at both of their reactions. I didn't break any rules. I took advantage of the freedom the instructor gave all of us. And it's not like I went way outside the box or anything -- I didn't make splatters or use my fingers. I didn't go abstract. I didn't make a mess or engage in any kind of odd creative process.
If the instructor had insisted on using the original color pallet as provided, what would I have done? (Probably something abstract with those same colors.) If the instructor had insisted that everyone in the room conform and paint the same thing, what would I have done? (I honestly don't know. I probably would have had to go rogue at that point and risk getting thrown out.) What's the worst that could've happened? I guess they could've asked me to leave, and I would've been out some time and money and would've needed to find a way to entertain myself until my friends were done. As far as worst case scenarios go, none of these are all that bad. But I didn't even have to worry about any of these things.
It's like we're all conditioned to live in our tiny, little boxes that we don't even see the possibilities right in front of us a lot of the time. I feel like people have often viewed me as some kind of rebellious free spirit in the way they've described my style of dress (tutus and mismatching socks and silver boots with checked laces, etc.), but I'm really not. I like what I like, and I take advantage of the opportunities to enjoy those things. It's not that hard. You just need to pay attention and look for the opportunities. (And then exploit them for all you can.)
If you want to do that, go right ahead. It's just not something that interests me.
But then a very good friend said she wanted to do one of these paint nights and she invited me along. I said I'd go, but I made it clear from the beginning that I wanted to do my own thing. I wanted to paint the sky (as I remembered it) from the view of the boat deck when I saw the Northern Lights in Iceland.
Our group of three arrived at the studio last night and found our way to the corner where our assigned easels were. We were supposed to be painting this:
We received paper plates with globs of paint in the color pallet needed to paint this picture. It didn't include any blues or greens, which would've been necessary for the painting I wanted to make. I was nervous that I was going to have to come up with another plan, because although this picture is fine, it's not something I particularly wanted to hang in my home.
And then the instructor said we could help ourselves to any of the colors in the "paint bar" and to feel free to paint whatever we wanted.
I tuned out the instructor as she described how to paint the picture above. From my initial brush strokes, it was obvious I was doing my own thing. The guy seated next to me said, "Going rogue!" I just said, "Yep," and continued painting.
During an early break, a woman I didn't know stopped in front of my easel. I'm not sure where she was painting or why she came over to look at mine. She asked me (in a bit of a sharp tone) why I wasn't painting the picture everyone else was.
"Because I didn't want to," I said. (My tone might have been sharper if I hadn't been so taken aback by the fact that a stranger was interrupting me to ask what I perceived to be a pretty dumb question.)
My friend stepped in and very cheerfully said something about my overwhelming desire to paint the Northern Lights as I had seen them recently. The lady walked away.
What I wanted to ask was, "Why do you feel like you need to paint exactly what's up there?" Or, "Why is it so threatening to you that I wanted to do something different?"
The instructor came by, was very complimentary, and even dug out the studio's Northern Lights painting to help serve as inspiration, if I wanted it. (Theirs was very different from what I was doing, but it's a nice painting, and it was nice of her to be so enthusiastic.)
In the end, this is what I painted:
That's the moon in the upper right corner. The column of white light is supposed to represent the Imagine Peace tower. That's a big cloud rolling horizontally across the canvas.
It turned out to be a really fun evening with friends, where I got to do something creative and make a painting I truly wanted to make. I'd do it again.
The guy next to me seemed impressed that I was "going rogue" while the strange lady was clearly disturbed by it. I marvel at both of their reactions. I didn't break any rules. I took advantage of the freedom the instructor gave all of us. And it's not like I went way outside the box or anything -- I didn't make splatters or use my fingers. I didn't go abstract. I didn't make a mess or engage in any kind of odd creative process.
If the instructor had insisted on using the original color pallet as provided, what would I have done? (Probably something abstract with those same colors.) If the instructor had insisted that everyone in the room conform and paint the same thing, what would I have done? (I honestly don't know. I probably would have had to go rogue at that point and risk getting thrown out.) What's the worst that could've happened? I guess they could've asked me to leave, and I would've been out some time and money and would've needed to find a way to entertain myself until my friends were done. As far as worst case scenarios go, none of these are all that bad. But I didn't even have to worry about any of these things.
It's like we're all conditioned to live in our tiny, little boxes that we don't even see the possibilities right in front of us a lot of the time. I feel like people have often viewed me as some kind of rebellious free spirit in the way they've described my style of dress (tutus and mismatching socks and silver boots with checked laces, etc.), but I'm really not. I like what I like, and I take advantage of the opportunities to enjoy those things. It's not that hard. You just need to pay attention and look for the opportunities. (And then exploit them for all you can.)
Monday, January 26, 2015
Nostalgia, Part 2: Go Your Own Way
Kind of randomly, I added the Fleetwood Mac song "Go Your Own Way" to a mix CD I made over the weekend.
I was listening to the mix in the car last night and this morning. Each time "Go Your Own Way" came on, I had the same flush of happiness that I have experienced every single time I have heard that song since I was a little, tiny kid.
I was maybe three or four. We were in my mom's old Vega at the A&P at Scot's Corners. This song came on. She said, "Do you want to go fast?"
I said yes.
And then she drove fast (or, what seemed like really fast to a toddler) behind the back side of the strip mall.
Every time I hear this song, I think of that. I think of freedom and breaking rules and having fun. It makes me feel happy and truly alive.
(This is all really ironic, considering the subject matter and lyrics of the song.)
I was listening to the mix in the car last night and this morning. Each time "Go Your Own Way" came on, I had the same flush of happiness that I have experienced every single time I have heard that song since I was a little, tiny kid.
I was maybe three or four. We were in my mom's old Vega at the A&P at Scot's Corners. This song came on. She said, "Do you want to go fast?"
I said yes.
And then she drove fast (or, what seemed like really fast to a toddler) behind the back side of the strip mall.
Every time I hear this song, I think of that. I think of freedom and breaking rules and having fun. It makes me feel happy and truly alive.
(This is all really ironic, considering the subject matter and lyrics of the song.)
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Nostalgia
Yesterday, I got completely side tracked for HOURS when I saw a link to a comprehensive history of every game my league has ever played and wanted to help make sure all the details were right. I combed through my own game history and staffing polls and lineup spreadsheets. And then I went flipping through my calendar month by month for the last several years.
Starting about four years ago, I put pretty much everything in my Gmail calendar. Dentist appointments and hair cuts and reminders to put the trash out. Visits to the vet, reminders to drop the car off at the mechanic or to make something for a potluck at work. Recurring reminders to pay bills each month. Practices. Games. The birthdays of every person I hold dear. I page through my calendar all the time.
But I'd never looked at such a long period of my life through the lens of this calendar before. I saw all the notations about adventures, movie dates, concerts. Book launches. Random dinners and lunches and brunches with friends. Meetings with the writing partner who lives nearby. Dates to talk on the phone or have a virtual write-a-thon with the writing partner who lives far away. All those obstacle 5Ks. Trips home.
And then this morning, I was digging through all my writing emails, looking for the query letter that got me some interest from an agent on the first book I wrote (which still lies on this computer needing a fairly significant rewrite). And I found all these old emails I'd forgotten I'd saved and tagged as being related to writing -- sometimes mine specifically, but not always. There was an email with a transcript of a G-chat with my writing partner during a particularly difficult time that turned into both of us virtually laughing our asses off. There were emails where I argued with another writer friend about why we do what we do.
I often say that I am generally happy with my life, and that I am oh so lucky to have had so many great adventures and to have such incredible people in my life. It's true. But all this nostalgia as I went through my calendar yesterday and those emails today really just left me awash in this intense feeling of gratitude.
There have been a lot of really crappy times in my life the last several years (not the least of which has been dealing with so many losses of people I love). But the thing is, there have also been so very many beautiful and fun and creative and exhilarating times, too.
It makes me want to give these epic, long, squeeze-y hugs to all the people who played a part in those good moments. But for now, I'll settle for this:
Thank you. Sending you so much love. And then even more.
Starting about four years ago, I put pretty much everything in my Gmail calendar. Dentist appointments and hair cuts and reminders to put the trash out. Visits to the vet, reminders to drop the car off at the mechanic or to make something for a potluck at work. Recurring reminders to pay bills each month. Practices. Games. The birthdays of every person I hold dear. I page through my calendar all the time.
But I'd never looked at such a long period of my life through the lens of this calendar before. I saw all the notations about adventures, movie dates, concerts. Book launches. Random dinners and lunches and brunches with friends. Meetings with the writing partner who lives nearby. Dates to talk on the phone or have a virtual write-a-thon with the writing partner who lives far away. All those obstacle 5Ks. Trips home.
And then this morning, I was digging through all my writing emails, looking for the query letter that got me some interest from an agent on the first book I wrote (which still lies on this computer needing a fairly significant rewrite). And I found all these old emails I'd forgotten I'd saved and tagged as being related to writing -- sometimes mine specifically, but not always. There was an email with a transcript of a G-chat with my writing partner during a particularly difficult time that turned into both of us virtually laughing our asses off. There were emails where I argued with another writer friend about why we do what we do.
I often say that I am generally happy with my life, and that I am oh so lucky to have had so many great adventures and to have such incredible people in my life. It's true. But all this nostalgia as I went through my calendar yesterday and those emails today really just left me awash in this intense feeling of gratitude.
There have been a lot of really crappy times in my life the last several years (not the least of which has been dealing with so many losses of people I love). But the thing is, there have also been so very many beautiful and fun and creative and exhilarating times, too.
It makes me want to give these epic, long, squeeze-y hugs to all the people who played a part in those good moments. But for now, I'll settle for this:
Thank you. Sending you so much love. And then even more.
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Death is your gift
In the last year, there have been probably a dozen posts I've started, got a paragraph or two or three into and deleted because I couldn't figure out a way to tie all the random thoughts together. This was going to be one (and maybe it should be), but maybe it's okay to open the window on the jumbled stuff in my head, too:
I've had a mighty productive morning, considering I am still wearing pajamas and have brushed neither my teeth nor hair.
I read a couple short books (Maurice Sendak's My Brother's Book; Neil Gaiman's Make Good Art; and The 13 Clocks by James Thurber); got my W-2 and promptly filed my taxes; shredded a bunch of stuff that's been sitting around for literally YEARS waiting to be shredded; organized the recycling (including all the shredded paper) to be dropped off at the EcoMaine trailer; put away a bunch of stuff in the storage area downstairs; sorted through a bunch of stuff in the junk pile on the kitchen counter. I found this CD I'd labeled "Death is your gift." I recognized it as a line from Buffy (which, coincidentally, I'm rewatching on Netflix right now), but I had no idea what was on it. I shoved it in my laptop and recognized that it's a mix of songs I had a hard time listening to around the time Mom died and afterward as well as other songs that remind me of loss. It's actually a great mix:
And as I complete these concrete tasks that make me feel some sense of productivity and accomplishment, which makes it feel almost okay to avoid the query letter, I catch the line from blink-182's "Ghost on the Dance Floor" that always stops me -- it's like the universe has left me without a place to go.
Do other people feel like that? Because I do. All the time.
I've had a mighty productive morning, considering I am still wearing pajamas and have brushed neither my teeth nor hair.
I read a couple short books (Maurice Sendak's My Brother's Book; Neil Gaiman's Make Good Art; and The 13 Clocks by James Thurber); got my W-2 and promptly filed my taxes; shredded a bunch of stuff that's been sitting around for literally YEARS waiting to be shredded; organized the recycling (including all the shredded paper) to be dropped off at the EcoMaine trailer; put away a bunch of stuff in the storage area downstairs; sorted through a bunch of stuff in the junk pile on the kitchen counter. I found this CD I'd labeled "Death is your gift." I recognized it as a line from Buffy (which, coincidentally, I'm rewatching on Netflix right now), but I had no idea what was on it. I shoved it in my laptop and recognized that it's a mix of songs I had a hard time listening to around the time Mom died and afterward as well as other songs that remind me of loss. It's actually a great mix:
- View from Heaven - Yellowcard
- Hope There's Someone - Antony and the Johnsons
- I Will Follow You Into the Dark - Deathcab for Cutie
- Ghost on the Dance Floor - blink-182
- A Lifetime - Better Than Ezra
- I Miss You - blink-182
- (Coffee's for Closers) - Fall Out Boy
- Shake it Out - Florence + the Machine
- How to Save a Life - The Fray
- Paul's Song - Jessica Campbell and Bullet
- Lay Me Down - The Frames
- In the Sun - Joseph Arthur
- Heartbeats - Jose Gonzalez
- Winter - Joshua Radin
- The Cave - Mumford & Sons
- Forgiveness - Patty Griffin
- Breathe Me - Sia
- Everything'll Be Alright (Will's Lullaby) - Joshua Radin
- Life is Beautiful - Vega4
And as I complete these concrete tasks that make me feel some sense of productivity and accomplishment, which makes it feel almost okay to avoid the query letter, I catch the line from blink-182's "Ghost on the Dance Floor" that always stops me -- it's like the universe has left me without a place to go.
Do other people feel like that? Because I do. All the time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)